Rowdy
by wrestlefan4
Summary: There are kayfabe feuds, and then there are real ones that last nearly twenty years. Rowdy Roddy Piper and others.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This is kind of weird I know. It's inspired by watching Born to Controversy the Rowdy Roddy Piper dvd set. It's amazing you need to watch it!! But anyway, that's where this came from. I'm following a lot of real life events, dates, facts, etc but of course it's still fictional. It's fiction based around real events I guess you could say. I do not know any thing about any of these guys sexuality or relationships other than Piper and Orton were very close friends and spent a lot of time together both in and out of the ring. This is NOT going to be a chaptered story. This is a few-shot. It should be at the most maybe five parts, if even that. I can't tell you how quickly it will be updated either since I have lots of other fics going too. But this was pecking and pecking at my brain so I had to. I hope I do Hot Rod justice in keeping him some what IC because he's one of my all time favs. Now, I shut up and you read. Or…or…I'll er….knock you out with a coconut! *hugs* Oh, and sorry if I made it confusing when Roddy speaks but he talks fast and a lot and I noticed that he seems to interrupt himself a lot lol so I was just trying to be a good writer and keep him in character-ish. Now, I promise. That's all! *throws coconut***

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_Oct. 3, 2005 Raw Homecoming _

Bob Orton stood somber in the locker room, his eyes occasionally glancing up at his son Randy who was chatting, red-faced, with that kid John Cena. Bob shook his head dismally, as much as the brace on his neck would allow. _Kayfabe injuries, my specialty. _He thought to himself as he adjusted that damn itchy collar and watched his blushing son walk out of the locker room with Cena close behind him.

"Ya never did get that cast off, didja? They just put it in a different place!"

That voice was too familiar, the sound of it sending shudders through Bobs' body and a succession of old times firing through his mind like machine gun pops. His easy face set into something as close to a scowl as he could ever manage to produce, ready to turn and face the hot-headed lunatic that belonged to that voice, but he didn't have to. Said owner swaggered around him, glancing him up and down with a small, smart-ass looking smile on his face. He scratched at his red hair, thinner now than Bob had remembered it, and ruffled it up. Bob swallowed hard, not realizing just how much such a simple mannerism could affect him—still—after all these years.

"Whats a'matter, cat got your tongue? Well, ya never was one much for talking though were ya Ace." Piper patted Bobs' chest, taking in the shocked look on his normally docile face, since aged with lines and a little extra weight.

"Nope, but you always were." Bob said quietly, and though Roddy had drawn his hand away, the warm sensation of it against his chest remained. That touch played with his mind and threatened to shift it back to days when they were both younger, and much closer, before it all ended.

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_Feb. 1986_

Both men had just finished taping for Saturday Night's Main Event: A boxing match between Mr. T and Bob with Roddy at ring side. After the taping the two of them had headed straight back to their hotel arguing the entire way. Now Bob was scanning around the small hotel room, grabbing his clothes and his things and stuffing them into his suitcase. Roddy just threw things around the room in typical temper tantrum fashion. Something whizzed over Bobs' head and he turned on his boot heel as Roddy overturned a piece of furniture.

"Don't you be pissed off at me, if you're gonna be mad at anyone then look in the mirror! You ain't gonna stop runnin' 'round on me Roderick, then I'm done! I told you before, and this time I mean it! I've waited 'round and waited 'round, and I'm through waitin' for you to settle yourself!"

He'd given so much to this man and the time for giving was now over. A man gets tired of being hurt, of being cheated, of being strung along and lied to.

"Settle!" Roddy shrieked, the one word seeming to make the walls of the room—or at least Bob—shudder. "Is this what this is about? About the others? Well, you know me Ace, brother you know how I am if you ever thought I was gonna settle down you got another thing comin' they don't call me Rowdy just for the hell of it!"

No answer from Bob, just a loud sniffle and clearing of the throat as he tried not to cry like a big baby in front of the man that he loved. Hands gripped his arms. He tilted his head to look down at the shorter man, a glint of fear danced in Roddys' fiery eyes as the reality of the situation began to sink in. Their strong friendship had suffered many fights in private, many threats of leaving, but it had never come down to Bob actually packing his suitcase and locking up his heart and really leaving.

"Come on Ace, come on man ya know I love ya!" Roddys' laughter was nervous, his hands pawing at Bobs' arms as the bigger man pulled away and propped his suitcase up to snap the buckles closed in two sharp sounds that seemed so final. "Ace…don't go…ya know—ya know ya can't live without me next to ya there! Ace, Ace don't go!"Bob brushed Roddys' hands away and headed to the door in a couple of tall strides. His hand gripped the doorknob and for a brief moment he thought about dropping the suitcase and ravaging that cocky, loud-mouth that he adored.

"Ace, don't go!" The simple sentence was broken by Roddys' voice, the begging in it clear enough, any brashness wiped away. Bob turned to see his Hot Rod right behind him, shifting from foot to foot, tugging at his hair, as his mind seemed to pound itself for anything to do or say to make the big man stay. Bob grasped Roddys' hands and pulled them out from his long, choppy hair, and linked their fingers together. A subtle, all most non-existent smile so slightly curved the cowboys lips as he looked down into that face.

"I'm goin'." He said softly, and before Roddy could say anything else Bob stole those words away with a quick and final kiss. "And don't call me Ace." Bob finished, pulling away, clutching the handle of his suitcase again. "I ain't your Ace no more."

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"Earth to Bob Orton, Earth to ya Ace!"

Bob blinked, noting fingers snapping in front of his nose and that heckling voice of Piper, not the young one he'd been day dreaming of but the one that was here right now, in good ol' 2005. Frowning, Bob slapped the hand away and Roddy took a couple steps back, throwing his hands up, palms out, in an apologetic gesture.

"I'm sorry there old timer, I's shoulda just left youse alone I guess. Did I come in here disrupting your little—little family time?" Roddy grinned, finger quoting the last words. "You and your boy together so cute huh--that pretty boy of yours over there powderin' his nose or somethin' tryin' to look pretty and precious for that thug kid—whatever his damn name is! And what are you doin' ya gonna teach him the fundamentals of—of ah-ha—wearing a cast made outta duct tape? Or maybe youse was ready to sit down and have the talk with him about how ya shouldn't swallow some certain things! Little boy don't take no hard candy from strangers!" Roddy yelled. Of course he did, he _always _had to yell and spout out of that big mouth of his.

"Is this all y'came in here to do? Run yer damn mouth as usual!" Bob stepped forward, forcing Roddy back, until he was pinned against the lockers. The taller man loomed over him, the shadow of his cowboy hat falling across his face. "Maybe it's you who come in here wantin' somethin' to _swallow._"

"HA! You wish old man, you wish these lips was stuck on you dontcha! But Bobby, your memory must not be what it was—you must be slippin' like a duck tryin' to walk on a glass pond baby, cause that was your job! And Ace, you always did look so purty down on your knees!" Roddy cackled, watching Bobs' quiet face as it barely shifted, the anger only noted deep within his eyes. "You loooooved havin' your head up under my kilt…_Ace_." The last word came out so different from the others, not shouted, not crazy, just a soft whisper accompanied by Roddys' hands rubbing over Bobs' chest, his fingers playing with one single button.

"You crazy sonvabitch, get out of here!" Bob shoved Roddy back into the lockers with a clank as his head smacked back against the metal.

"You know you want me here, youse been missin' me, lil' ole me ya miss me ha--don't ya! You can't say after all them years ya don't miss me Orton! Everybody misses the Hot Rod!" Roddy followed after Bob as he rubbed at that stupid neck brace and strode out into the hallway, unsuccessfully trying to shake off the kilted man who followed at his heels. "Ace, you miss me Ace! I know ya do!"

"Nope."

Roddy whirled him around, stopping them both in their tracks, this time Bob was the one pinned. Roddys' intense gaze bore into him. Bobs' hands remained at his sides but begged him to let their fingers trace through Roddys' hair again.

"Don't lie to me!" Roddy hissed, Bobs' shirt fisted in his hand.

"Well, you lied to me more often than not. Seems you ain't too happy when the tables get turned. And by the way Hot Scot, stop callin' me Ace, we established this a long time ago, I ain't your Ace no more."

With one sudden movement, Bob sent Roddy backwards, tripping over his feet, falling into Jericho who barked curses and insults at both of them. Bob just let them roll off his back as he walked towards the gorilla area where Randy and Cena stood, Randy looking like a virginal school boy with his blue polo shirt and jeans and that gelled hair-do which made him look like he was still stuck back in middle school. Without warning Bob inserted himself between the two, forcing their linked hands apart.

"You get on outta here and leave me and my boy to talk." He barked at Cena, the young man nodded and did as he was told leaving the two Ortons alone.

"Why'd you do that!" Randy growled, shooting daggers at his father with his silvery eyes.

"Because son, you ain't need to be involin' yourself with no man."

Randy rolled his eyes.

"You hear me, boy? I been around the block a time or two more than you have, I know these things from experience so you best take it from me. That kinda dabblin' don't end well." As if to emphasize, Bob glanced sideways at Roddy who was at the other side of the gorilla area now arguing with Jericho.

"Dad, I'm not you…and John isn't Roddy either. I know that didn't turn out good for you, I remember. But this is different--" Bob gripped his sons shoulders firmly and cut off his words.

"No, Randal. You listen to your father--"

"I said I'm not you…in fact…" Randy prodded the ridiculous neck brace. "I'm a hell of a lot better than you." He wrenched away from his father and stalked away, leaving Bob to sigh, his shoulders slumping.

_He's right though. _With eyes of sadness Bob glanced over at Roddy, still embroiled in an argument with Jericho which was rising higher and higher in both pitch and vulgarity. _The best gig I ever had was with Roddy, and all I was to him in the ring was a body guard with an everlasting injury. _Bob gently touched his forearm, tracing his fingers up and down, remembering the many times he'd done that and felt the removable kayfabe cast he'd worn for so long. His hand slowly moved upwards, and pressed against his chest. He wondered if there was a cast there inside his chest cupping his heart, the injury unfortunately too real, and after nearly twenty years it remained unhealed and aching.

His eyes kept track of Rod as he was pulled away from Jericho, reminded that his Pipers Pit segment with Foley was due to start in a few minutes. Sighing, Bob went to find Randy. They were due to interrupt the segment thus starting a mini-feud between the Ortons and Piper. It almost made him laugh, as though the two of them needed something more to fight over. He came upon Randy and Cena in catering, sealed at the lips. The sight of the two young men sent Bobs' head whirling to a time when he had been Randys' age, just starting out and locking lips with another up and coming young superstar who he completely adored. Bob leaned against the wall, trying to steady himself as tears sprang to his eyes, and the taste of Roddys' lips crept over his, the touch of them remembered as if they'd never left.


	2. Chapter 2

_**A/N: New person comes in here. I don't really care for Mr. Wonderful Paul Orndorff in fact...lol I think he looks nasty. But the three of them were together a lot and in this story he plays a big part. Just a fun fact: It is really true that Roddy gave the trademark nickname 'Ace' to Orton and "Mr. Wonderful" to Orndorff. I don't know about you but that said slash to me. Ace I can get, but what guy calls their platonic guy friend 'Mr. Wonderful'? Hm. Food for thought. And please if I ever get Roddy extremely out of character all of you yell at me because I feel very strongly about keeping him IC. Thanks guys so much for your reviews, favs, alerts, etc. Love yas! *plays celebratory bagpipe solo*  
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_1984_

Bob Orton hung back watching the promo with a small smile upturning his lips, with his strong arms crossed over his wide chest. The man he was watching was one he certainly knew of, his notoriety as both a superb villain and a fan-favorite was prominent with promotions such as NWA Hollywood Wrestling, NWA San Francisco Wrestling, Pacific Northwest Territory , Georgia Championship Wrestling, and Jim Crockett Promotions. He was an edgy character, some of his stunts well known within the industry—such as the one that had first got him noticed as a villain. That had been in the L.A. area where Piper had constantly mocked the Mexican community and had finally promised to make amends by learning to play the Mexican National Anthem on his bagpipes. Instead, he played 'La Cucaracha'.

Just as his character, his feuds were also storied such as one that lasted nearly three years against Chavo Guerrero and eventually the whole Guerrero family. But the thing which had finally gotten Piper noticed by the big man—Vince McMahon—was one hell of a match the likes of which had never been witnessed before. Bob had heard tell of the match and its brutality and could only imagine what kind of balls this guy must have. Apparently, he had been asked to come up with the most brutal stipulation he could think of, and Piper had came through with two leather studded dog collars connected with a loggers chain. Piper won the match against his opponent Greg Valentine but a fist wrapped in chain to the side of the head had left the Hot Scot with severe damage to his ear, impeding his balance and in ring ability, which was why Vince had made him a manager and the mouth piece for other superstars less than talented on the mic.

But Roddy, he really knew how to work that damn thing. Bob's smile grew wider as Roddy's rant grew more intense, his voice louder, and one of the camera crew was signaling to cut it out with a swipe of his finger across his throat. Bob wondered what kind of nerve Roddy had struck this time, and laughed. It was going to be fun working with this one, he knew that right away.

Moments later, Roddy was finished, and carelessly dropped his mic, walking away from the cameras and scratching at his hair, with the other man he was cutting the promo with trailing behind him. The other man trailing Piper caught up to his quick stride and hung his huge, muscled arm over Piper's shoulder, both of them sharing a laugh as they headed over towards Bob and Vince McMahon Jr. Bob glanced sideways at the later, McMahons' dark hair slicked back from his face which held a pleased smirk.

"You're great Rod, just great!" Vince boomed as Piper and his accomplice approached. He gave the Scot a hearty slap on the chest. "I could leave you in a room with four people and a camera for five minutes and have the best promo ever cut!"

"Well," Roddy ducked his head, feigning modesty. "What can I say boss, ha."

"Don't say nothin', you already said it all." The other man who looked like a fucking carved statue—and Bob was sure he knew who he was—added in with a deep laugh.

"Here boys, I want you to meet Bob Orton Jr. I'm sure you know of his father--" Vince started but Roddy interrupted him, stepping closer and extending a hand.

"Oh, yeah yeah yeah, I wrestled Bob Orton Sr. a couple times. Hey I hope you ain't as easy as your old man!" Roddy joked good naturedly and Bob grinned, taking his hand and pumping it a couple of times.

"As I was saying, I guess this man here doesn't need an introduction." Vince patted Roddy's shoulder and rolled his eyes. "And this is--"

Roddy interrupted Vince again and the boss threw his hands in the air, a sign of put-on frustration.

"This ugly son of a bitch is my pal—he's a good guy ya know…Paul Orndorff but I's calls him Mr. Wonderful myself. He's a good guy, he is!" Roddy was slapping the guys bulging bicep as Paul shook his head.

"Mr. Wonderful." Bob mused, flicking his eyes from the kilted man to the shirtless one in the curve hugging jeans. "Not bad."

"Ah, Roddy came up with it."

"Thank you, I am a genius I know!" Roddy bowed elaborately, bobbing his head and making his auburn hair fly around his face.

"Yep. Me and him debuted together January and he tagged that nick name onto me." Orndorff went on. "Just decided to keep it after that. I mean, I am pretty wonderful."

"Are you nit-wits quite finished?" Vince barked, inserting himself between the three.

"No we ain't Junior, and in fact, we don't need you! Go on and get out of here and push some paper or what ever it is monkeys like yourself do there…you and your big child bearing hips—ha!" Roddy waved Vince away as the boss glared. "He don't need no introductions anyway, no sir! I know what he's here for!" Roddy clapped Bobs' chest in excitement, which the Scot certainly never seemed to be lacking. "This here's my body guard! He's gonna be my new body guard, Paul." He said turning to Orndorff, as if all four men had not heard his raucous declaration the first time. "I think I'm gonna love my body guard!"

"Fine you three, I see I'm not needed here--"

"No, is he deaf?" Roddy asked the other two, scratching at his ear. "Are you deaf son? I told ya we didn't need you! Go powder your nose!"

The four of them shared a round of good laughter and Vince really did retreat, to powder his nose or do whatever it was that called him.

"Say, Mr. Wonderful and myself were just gonna head out for some drinks, do some partying Piper style ya wanna come along Ace?" Roddy asked, hanging on Paul's arm as the sculpted man nodded his head towards Bob.

"Ace?" Bob asked lowly.

"He likes to give out nicknames." Paul explained with a slight shrug.

"Great! I knew we'd hit it off right away you look like a good man there, Ace. Off we go to raise some hell!" Roddy exclaimed, and tugged Paul after him. Bob watched them for a moment, scratching his head and blinking, before following after them.

The three of them surely did raise hell and even got thrown out of a couple of bars. By the end of the night, Roddy was the worst off, and no he wasn't a crying drunk or a sleepy one unfortunately. He got louder and rowdier, something Bob would not have thought possible had he not been there trying to keep the hot-head under some form of control, as Paul threw himself at various men getting them all disgusted looks. Bob had one on each arm, still managing to stay calm, as he pulled them both back to the hotel. Paul was flirting with Roddy to the point it was becoming obscene, and even a couple of times he directed some of his lines and gestures towards Bob who turned red as a cherry and wished he'd wore his cowboy hat, if nothing else just to hide his face.

Roddy on the other hand was randomly yelling at passerby, hurling insults and names, racial remarks, lewd comments, all of it shouted at the top of his voice. Thankfully most of it was slurred together so it wasn't entirely recognizable. If he hadn't have been so far gone and stumbling over his own feet then Bob was sure he would have already wrenched free of his grasp and entangled himself in some brawl or another, probably with three guys all twice his size. Bob shook his head, laughing, as he hauled the two men into their hotel and down to his own room which was thankfully on the first floor. He didn't even bother asking them what their room number was, they were both too far gone to know, and he really didn't feel like frisking either one of them for the key as Paul would undoubtedly get fresh about it and Roddy might get too defensive and combative.

Once he'd wrangled them into the room, he heaved a sigh of relief, and went back to the door which he'd had to leave wide open to get them both inside. He shut it and locked each lock, then leaned on the dresser to pull his boots off and unbutton his shirt. He was just ready for those two to pass out so he could get some sleep, it was an ungodly hour of the morning and the three of them had things to do the next day which entailed traveling and then Bob debuting as Piper's body guard. He finished with his buttons and peeled his shirt away, it was soaked with sweat and beer because Roddy had spilled his conveniently over Bob instead of himself. It was then that he noted the room had gone strangely quiet. He cocked his head listening for the soft sounds of sleep but what he heard did not register as sleeping. As what was happening did register, Bob's eyes grew wide and he spun on his heel so fast he nearly threw himself to the floor.

Paul was half naked on the bed, his lap full of Roddy, his hands secured in the back pockets of Roddy's jeans as the younger man ran his hands up and down Paul's chiseled chest. But what Bob had heard was the sounds their lips were making, open and stuck together, exploring each others mouths.

"N-n-now wait just a fuckin' minute here!" Bob stuttered out, striding over to the two men and pulling Roddy out of Pauls' lap. His hands were secured around Roddy's waist, the smaller mans back to his chest, and Roddy was trying to urge Bobs' hands further down. "W-we-we're not havin' none of this…THIS…stuff…goin' on here!" Bob sputtered as Roddy moved against him and tilted his face upwards, studying Bobs' face.

"Come on Bob-a-roo." Paul dismissed Bob flippantly. "It's the eighties don't be so uptight." A slow, wide, smile spread across Pauls' face as he sauntered over to the other two and reached past Roddy to stroke Bobs' hot cheek. "Hm, but I bet you are tight…and…" Paul glanced down at the bulge in his own jeans and then back up to Bob. "Looks like I'm up too."

"Now, see here!"

"See where?" Roddy yelped, pulling away from Bobs' grip. "Look Ace, you're gonna be my guard body…er…body…well whatever the fuck it is anyway! It involves you and my body, apparently!"

Roddy curled his fingers around Bobs' belt as Paul slipped behind and ran his hands under Bobs' undershirt.

"I—now see—stop that!" Bob batted at both of their hands and retreated to the bed, tossing a pillow. "Nothin' frisky is goin' on y'hear. That's that! And especially not involving me!" He pulled the covers around him, opting to keep the rest of his clothes on, and if he was closer to his discarded shirt he would have grabbed that too and buttoned it up tight.

"I think we got us a fairyphobe!" Roddy shrieked to Paul as Paul roamed his hands over Rods' body, unbuckling his belt. "He's afraid of you my Mr. Wonderful." Roddy pouted, leaning into Pauls' touches.

Bob ducked his head under the covers, his eyes wide in the darkness. Sure, in this business he'd known of guys who had turned to each other for the kind of understanding and support only someone else in the business could provide, then again he knew guys who just swung that way period. He'd seen some flirting in the locker room, but never anything as open and intense as this. Not only was it awkward to be exposed to that part of someone elses life—after all for fucks sake that stuffs private!—but it wasn't completely disgusting. In fact, it was affecting Bob in a way he did not want to be affected. He chalked it up being apart from his wife for so long and being too shy and awkward to just drag any random girl back with him for a romp in the sack. He smashed his eyelids together, closing them hard, and tried to drown out the obscene noises and commands that were filling the room as the two other men sharing it ignored his stuttered stipulations.

After a few moments of hiding under the covers Bob cautiously lowered them. He told himself that it was because it was getting stuffy and hard to breathe under there, but that didn't explain why he was glancing over at Rod and Paul and rather enjoying what was going on.

"He's watching." Paul whispered against Roddy's ear, the action sending a visible shudder through the Hot Rods' body, which likewise sent an unexpected one through Bob.

"Well, Mr. Wonderful it seems like what we got here is a voy—a voy—ah…peeper! That's what we have here Paulie we got us a peeeeep-er!" Roddy laughed drunkenly as he stumbled towards the bed, his jeans which Paul had undone slipped from his waist and tangled around his ankles, revealing nothing else underneath to hide his aroused anatomy. Luckily Paul caught him before he fell into a cursing heap on the floor.

"Here babe lemme help."

Roddy gripped Pauls' muscled shoulders as he helped him out of his jeans. With a cocky smirk Roddy came closer to the bed and climbed onto it, the springs creaking as he crawled towards Bob and straddled his waist. He leaned close to Bobs' ear and growled huskily.

"Now you know what a Scotsman wears under his jeans, Ace."

Bob quickly swallowed the groan that threatened to slip out as Roddys' lips tickled against his ear. The mattress shifted again as the third man in the room mounted the bed and perched himself behind Roddy, both their weight securely holding Orton to the bed.

"Now, you see here!" Bob shouted in protest. Roddy played with the covers and pulled them from Bobs' clutching fingers.

"See where Ace?" Roddy teased as he drew the covers away from Bobs' still clothed body which was twitching and shuddering under his every touch. "Hm…it looks like you kinda liked our lil' show you're all nice and ejected—er—erected there aint'cha?"

Roddy crawled up his body as Bob gave up the battle to fight him away. It was past that now, the man had him in a bad spot, and his mouth was dry and wordless in anticipation of what might happen next. Roddys' hands gripped his shoulders, kneading them until they were relaxed beneath his palms. His head dipped lower, soft, pretty, hair fell into his glittering eyes, alcohol heavy breath ghosted warm against Bobs' lips.

Bob was only vaguely aware that a third hand which clearly belonged to Orndorff was cupping the bulge of his jeans, but those touches were barely felt, his focus was captured in those heated eyes and the lips that were so close to his. Bob gasped, and Rod stole the sound away pushing his lips roughly against Bobs'. Fire exploded between them, the feeling coursing through Bobs' body at the touch of those lips made every other kiss before disappear in his minds eye, all of them meaningless, none of them as right as this one. His groin may as well have burst into flames, the throb of it painful as he reared up uncontrollably, his hands grasping Rods' hair and forcing the kiss to keep going deeper and deeper until there was nowhere else to go and no air left to breathe. Reluctantly, Bob untwined his fingers from Roddys' sweaty hair and shakily laid them on the younger mans' shoulders. Bob studied Roddys' eyes and expression carefully, and even as drunk as he was, Bob could sense that he had also felt the same electric charge between them.

"Hm, I like you Ace." Rod slurred, leaning in again to nip at Bobs' lips which were now hungrily trying for more. "I like you a lot."

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_2005_

"Dad?" _Snap. Snap. Snap! _"Dad!"

Bob blinked, taking a step backwards, noting his son was up in his face and glaring as he snapped his fingers in attempts to bring his father back to the here and now.

"Y-Yes son?" Bob managed to get out, as he wondered why his son was wrinkling his nose in disgust.

"You were watching us!" Randy spit out, his words acidic. "Unreal, I can't believe you…and you were _enjoying _it!" Randy and Bob both glanced down, both of them equally horrified at the proof of just how much Bob was enjoying himself.

"Randy, no son it's not--"

"You are a perverted old man!" Randy snarled. "If not for this damn storyline, if not for your name, I wouldn't be seen dead in the ring with you. You never did anything anyway. The word 'useless' comes to mind."

"You listen here you ungrateful--!"

"No Pop, you listen. I better never see you watching John and I _ever_ again."

"Randal I wasn't--"

"We have to go. Your old flame is out there rambling like a demented old bat, and we're slated to crash his decrepit show." Randy backed off a bit when his fathers' eyes blazed with a heat he hadn't seen in a very long time.

"You leave him outta this, boy!"

"I can't believe you still care about him." Randy scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Pathetic. Come on, I have a RKO to hit."

Mumbling grumpily under his breath Bob followed his son out of catering. Moments ago he was looking forward to seeing his son RKO his old flame, but now, he wasn't so sure. He thought he might like it better if he was allowed to handle Roddy himself…and not in the squared circle. _Stupid, stupid! _Bob thought as he fixed his cowboy hat and smoothed his shirt. Randys' music hit and the both of them walked down the ramp. From afar, Bobs' eyes met Roddys' and even now, he thought he saw that same old spark…_Hm…I like you Ace. I like you a lot._


	3. Chapter 3

_**Alright, sorry for the lag in updates. This was hard. The Pipers' Pit with Foley and both Ortons' is nearly 100% accurate, because I have it on dvd and watched it over and over. Everything Randy said are things he really said. I put in a lot of the extra descriptions and emotions of course…I'm convinced they're there. XD lol. Rods' flashback to his childhood has a lot of real elements too. The guy had it rough. *huggles The Rowdy One* Now I'm done rambling about that. Thank you for the reviews, and thank you for reading. **_

_2005_

Roddy Piper had glanced back over his shoulder and watched as Bob had sulked off no doubt to find his son—the arrogant little prick was no doubt wrapped around that thug kid that thought he was so kick ass—like he shit roses or something. Apparently Vince thought so, he had the kid lined up to be the next big thing, the next 'Hulkamania' only with more hair and less of the ketchup and mustard themed ring attire. Rod shook his head and ran a hand through his hair, and turned back to watching Mick Foley who was in the ring, pacing back and forth slowly on the tartan pattern lining the mat, two stools in the middle of the ring silently observing. Foley dragged his fingers through his shaggy hair and gave the crowd a gap-toothed grin. He looked like a raggedy dog that someone kicked in the face. _Well, takes a dog to know one! _Rod thought as he crossed his arms over his chest and watched, the leather of his trademark jacket feeling sticky on his arms.

"Mrs. Foleys' little boy has come back home! Home to raw, home to the USA network, and home right here in Dallas Texas!" A cheer erupted from the Texan crowd as Mick nodded to them appreciatively. "Now, normally a guest doesn't come out here and introduce his host, but tonights host is no ordinary man. He's a certifiable legend in the WWE, a true Hall of Famer, and a star in the upcoming movie 'Honor'. Ladies and gentlemen, say hello to Rowdy Roddy Piper!"

Foley turned and gestured towards the ramp with a wide smile as trademark bagpipe music filled the roaring arena. Roddy bounded down the ramp, watching the crowd as they cheered a classic favorite. It had been quite some time since he'd last been in the ring, and each time it was like coming home again…even if Bob wasn't following loyally behind him these days. He climbed onto the ropes and hung there for a moment, watching face in the crowd, before ducking under.

Rod shoved the thoughts of Bob out of his mind and listened instead to the cheers of the fans. He ducked under the ring ropes and shifted his leather jacket on his shoulders, taking time again to bob his head and smile around at the many faces in the crowd.

"A great ovation here for the Rowdy One!" J.R. announced as Piper snagged a mic and waved his arms around, shouting.

"Cut the music, cut it!"

The bagpipes were silenced and Roddy looked Mick up and down, moving closer to him as a smirk played on his lips.

"Wait a second, wait a second!" Roddy yelled, his voice rough and raucous. "I gotta tell ya something, I'm a fan of yours! Y'know I gotta tell ya, I thought I was the craziest son of a bitch in this business, but I got nothin' on you! You are nuts, totally nuts!"

Roddy gestured towards Foley with a pointing finger as the shaggy man smiled sheepishly. They bantered back and forth for a while, mainly with Piper going on about how crazy Mick Foley was—he even threw in a plug for Micks' book that had just come out—even though Rod really didn't care. He was distracted with thoughts of Bob. He knew that soon his body guard of times past and more importantly his ex-lover would be following Randy down the ramp and to the ring. Rod shook his head and tried to rid himself of the distractions, going on with Foley as he looked around at the crowd and raised the mic again to his lips.

"But this is Piper's Pit and what these people really wanna know is when Mick Foley is coming back to the WWE!" Roddy shouted. A quiet chant of 'Foley' started up with the crowd.

"Well, you see Roddy…I'd need a really good reason to come back to the WWE." Foley answered.

"You need a good reason!" Piper bellowed into the mic. "I'll give ya 12,000 good reasons--they're all right here!" Rod swept his arm out at the crowd, and led them in a 'Foley' chant that grew and grew in its intensity until the fray was suddenly stopped short by familiar music.

_Hey! Hey! Nothing you can say, nothing's gonna take what you've done to me. _

An eerie shiver coursed through Rod's body but he didn't let it show. The words to that song spoke volumes to him as he watched Randy come towards the ring, that smug, self-righteous look on his face, his high school hair-do, his nice, clean-cut, pretty little polo shirt, and behind him Bob, his hand going to that ridiculous neck brace creative had made him wear, as though he hadn't spent enough of his career 'injured'. Rods' eyes met Bobs' and he saw a flash there in the hazel depths.

"Randy Orton and his daddy, Bob Orton!" J.R. exclaimed, the obvious. "What are they doing here?"

The crowd was alive with an eruption of boos as Randy strutted towards the ring. Mick paced over to the ropes and waved his hand, yelling into the mic.

"Cut the music, cut the music!" Randy's music ceased, the crowd still roaring, as Mick shook his head at the young man, stopped on the ramp, his father behind him.

"Now Orton it's never good to see you under any circumstances, but this is raw, homecoming Mick Foley on Pipers pit!" Mick jabbed his finger towards Rod for emphasis. "So I'll tell ya what, you don't be concerned with the legend before you, but you need to worry about the legend whose going to do you in Sunday at No Mercy…"

Randy stood outside the ring, rolling his eyes as Mick went on, as if his little speech mattered to Randy at all.

"The Undertaker!" Mick finished, to which the crowd erupted into cheers.

"Now Mick," Randy raised the mic to his lips, gesturing. "Mick, as far as why I'm out here, I'm Randy Orton." The kid explained, a smug smile curving his lips. He shook his head, smiling broadly, as if his name was the only explanation he needed. "I can do, and get away with whatever I want."

He climbed the steel steps, Bob following close behind. Randy stopped at the ropes.

"But Mick, don't worry man." Randy ducked under the ropes and stepped onto the tartan fabric spread over the ring, signifying Pipers' Pit. "I'm not here to talk to you, I have nothing to say to you." He turned, his eyes burning holes into Piper, as though coals burned in their depths. Randy pointed, his finger seeming an accusation. "I want to talk to that man, Rowdy Roddy Piper!"

Randy forced a smile onto his face and sauntered towards Piper. Rod swallowed hard, and tried not to think of how Randy had Bobs' eyes, and the same dimple in his chin.

"You know kid, I really gotta tell ya, you look great--"

"Shut your mouth!" Randy screamed into the mic, his face inches from Pipers, his words full of anger and contempt, maybe even hate. "Just shut up! One more word out of you, and I will drop you, where you stand!" Randy jabbed his finger into Rods' chest, right at his 'Hot Rod' logo. The chords in his neck stood out as rage bubbled up on his features, in the way his lips pressed into a tight line, and in the way his eyes stabbed like white-hot daggers. Rod had to look away for a moment, guilt consuming him. He started to speak, but Randy usurped his words, a rare phenomenon for the Rowdy One.

"You would have been nothing without my father!" Randy raved on, pointing over his shoulder to where Bob leaned in the turnbuckle, his eyes never leaving Rods' as his boy ranted. "If it wasn't for my father, there would be no Pipers' Pit! There would be no you!" Randy spat, and shoved Rods' shoulder.

Rods' temper began to rise at the shove, this arrogant, cocky, kid dared put his hands on him. Bob dropped his eyes from Rods, and fumbled with the brace at his throat, grimacing as though it was choking him. Randy continued on, as Rod held his tongue and his fists, feeling deep down, that he probably deserved all of this, even though he knew Randy was putting on a show, and really had little respect for his father. That didn't seem to matter, because the hate and rage in his eyes was realer than Rod would have liked for it to be, and as Randys' words went on, cutting his heart, he wondered if he was the reason Randy had grown up to despise his father.

"When I was a kid growing up—I had to watch my Dad come home all black and blue, bruised up, hurt, in pain! His arm in a cast—_a_ _broken man_! What did he get—pain, suffering! What did you get out of it? MTV spots, segments, movies, main event status at Wrestlemania—you know what, it makes me _sick_!" Randy shoved Rod again, the butt of his hand landing hard against the older mans' shoulder, jarring him a couple steps back.

Rod looked over Randys' shoulder, to where Bob was, all of Randy's words hit him too close to home and he shook his head.

"Bob, you know—you know I always loved you--" The mics didn't pick up Rods' words, as pain welled up inside. Bob came off of the corner and moved down the ropes a little, towards Rod, but he stopped, and just pressed his lips tight together. Bobs' brow crinkled, a sad, thoughtful look on his face as he shook his head, and then dropped his eyes from Rods'. Randy stabbed his finger into Roddys' chest again, drawing the older mans' attention back to him.

"You're lucky my father has more class than I do. Fortunately I was raised the right way, and I grew up to be a legend killer." Randy shoved Rod for a third time, this time with a ferocity that surprised Rod, as both the young mans' palms crashed into his chest and sent back all the way into the ropes.

Rod bounded off the ropes, and gave his head a shake, then his fist flew at Randys' face, sending the cocky kid down to the mat, his mic flying from his hand. Rod dropped down onto Randy immediately, his rage welling over that Randy had called him out on all those things on live t.v., in front of all these people, the fact that this stupid kid had no idea what he was talking about—that he had no idea what kind of love had been shared between them, what was _still_ there despite how many times Rod tried to forget it, ignore it, demand it, or drink it away. His fists rained down on Randy, the young man momentarily shocked. Randy latched onto Rods' shirt and the two of them rolled around on the mat, brawling, trying to damage one another, as the announcers went crazy with exclamations.

Mick and Bob hurried over to the scuffle. Mick grabbed Rod under the arm pits as Bob reached for his son, and the two of them wrenched the spitting combatants apart. Rod cursed and shouted, things that didn't get picked up by the mics, and kicked Randy as Mick struggled him away. Bob on the other hand tried to wrangle his son, and as Randy's hands grappled for Roddy one last time, and tore his shirt apart.

Mick hoisted Rod to his feet and moved him back and away from Randy as Bob urged his son towards the turnbuckle, but wasn't very successful in keeping him there. Rod struggled against Foley, and fought to get his leather jacket off, ready to leap again at Randy, at this point his trademark hot temper clouding his better judgment. He got his coat off, and stepped closer to Randy, but Foley and Bob were still in between.

Before either Randy or Rod could leap at each other again, Bob decked Foley in the face, and sent the flannel-clad superstar to the mat. Randy saw his opportunity, and leaped for Rod, and RKO'd him, hard. Rod sprawled onto the mat, and Randy darted for Foley, who had just got back to his feet, and RKO'd him too as the crowd and announcers went insane. Randy moved to the middle of the ring, and with a pompous smile slowly arched his lips, stripped off his shirt, and struck a pose.

Randy ducked from the ring and sauntered back up the ramp, not even waiting for his father who lingered a bit, his eyes on the two men left in the center of the ring. Bob moved under the ropes, and slid down to the floor, sending one last, concerned, glance at Rod, before he turned and made his way after Randy who was posing again midway up the ramp.

"You didn't have to _really _RKO him, son." Bob muttered under his breath, displeased. He couldn't help but shift on his feet, and keep his eyes trained back down on the ring where Rod started to stir.

Mick had already gotten up, and helped Rod to his feet. He pressed a hand to his head as it spun, more from Randy's words than the actual RKO. The words Randy spoken, the words Bob had spoken so long ago, words he had spoken, all mingled together.

_You would have been NOTHING without my father!_

_What did he get—pain, suffering—a broken man!_

_I've waited 'round and waited 'round, and I'm through waitin' for you to settle yourself!_

_Ace, don't go! Bob--_

_Hey! Nothing you can say, nothing's gonna take what you've done to me. _

_Nothing's gonna take what you done to me, Roderick._

_Nothings' gonna take what you done to me._

Foley led Rod out of the ring, as Rod acted convincingly dazed from the shot, mainly because he really _was_ dazed. Mick led Rod to a place backstage which was semi-private, a few people lingered here and there, but were all chattering amongst themselves. Rod could barely feel Micks' hands on his shoulders, as they prodded him down to sit on a box.

"Rod, you okay man?"

He blinked, almost confused, realizing somewhat where he was.

"Fine, Paul." He mumbled.

"I'm Mick." Foley knelt, looking up into Rods' clouded eyes.

Rod sprang to his feet, shoving Mick backwards onto the cold concrete floor. The younger man looked up at him wide-eyed, flabberghasted.

"I know who the fuck y'are! Whaddya think I am, old! You think I'm senile or something!" Rod stalked off, hurrying past people who tried to stop him and talk, or pay him a compliment on the seg. He shoved past them all, flinging insults, as things from the past crashed through his mind, assaulting him. He found an exit and pressed the door open, and stumbled outside. The evening was dim, lit by yellowy lights that had bugs fluttering and dancing in the dusty beams. He walked a little ways out, and leaned against a dumpster, slowly crumpling against it into a seated position. He was one tough son of a bitch, his life had demanded it from a very early age, weakness was not something that got to him very often. Bob Orton, seemed to change that. Bob Orton was different from anyone else, even Orndorff who had been Rods' best friend until he'd met Orton. Bob got past the stupid jokes, the rough exterior, to something deeper. It had scared Rod to know that, it had scared him to wake up and realize just what Bob did to him, just how close Bob was, and how he wanted to be even closer. His running around on Bob was not out of habit, horniness, or just spite, it was a stupid fear that kept him from loving Bob the way he deserved. By the time Rod had realized it, it was too late. Bob had walked.

Paul had heard, and he'd came to Roddys' room, the door left unlocked, the place in a complete wreck, and a crumpled looking man sitting in the midst of it all. Paul had come to him and knelt, much like Mick had only moments ago, and placed his hands on Rods' shoulders.

_Feb. 1986_

"Rod, are you okay?"

"Do I look okay, Mr. Fucking-Wonderful!" Roddy spat, flinging Orndorffs' hand from his shoulder. Angrily, he swept the back of his trembling hand over his eyes, ashamed and furious that he was crying. If his old man was there, he would have beaten him into a bloodspot for acting like such a pussy. He sniffed, and struggled to dry up his eyes.

"He'll be back." Paul soothed, drawing Rod towards him. He was shoved away, and Roddy got to his feet and kicked one of the drawers he had torn out of the dresser and broken in his rage.

"He's not comin' back Paul! I ruined it, jeepers did I ever fucking ruin it!"

He paced, and sent his fist into the bed post when tears flooded his vision again.

"Damn it!" Rod shouted, his voice raw, booming, filling the small room. Someone upstairs banged on the floor. Roddy turned his face towards the ceiling, his features twisting and writhing with wrath. "Fuck you!" He shouted to whoever was knocking on his ceiling.

"Rod, come on man. It's Bob, he can't stay mad." Paul tried again, and wrapped his arms around Rods' shoulders. His strong arms held Rod, and the fiery Piper allowed it, although he would rather those arms belong to Bob. He scowled, something inside going hard and cold. He wriggled away from Pauls' grasp.

"I got too soft. I never shoulda loved him. I never shoulda let him love me! I ain't fuckin' worth it anyway." Rod nudged a broken picture with the toe of his shoe, as painful memories cut through him.

_Stupid fucking boy! Expelled? You're fucking worthless! Your Mama didn't want your sorry ugly ass, whaddya think I do? You goddamn bastard!_

_Dad—please!_

_Please what boy? Do you think I care about you? Do you think I give a fuck about you, little pussy girl? This is how much I care if I ever see your ugly face around here ever again…_

_Something crazy, something so cold and hateful, took over his fathers' eyes. They became deep, dark, pits, and the boy trembling in the corner knew that he was nothing to this man. Hollowness consumed they boy, as the reality bared down upon him that he was entirely alone, entirely unwanted._

_What are you doing boy, are you crying? _

_His father—not his father but just this man who had wasted sperm on this pathetic creature—pulled a knife from his pocket and snapped open the blade._

_I'll make you fucking cry Roderick, you little cunt. I'll give you something to cry over, then rid the world of your useless misery…_

_Fear froze him, fear, and despair. The coldness of the blade pressed against his throat, biting, tearing skin, drawing ribbons of blood that trailed hotly down his neck, and seeped into his shirt collar. He closed his eyes, sobbing, shaking, a growing part of him considering that letting this man drain him of his life might be better than living it so small, so alone, with nothing but anger and pain to consume him and keep him bitter company. _

_Cry little girl—CRY!_

_His fearful trembling turned to a flame of rage that burned brighter and brighter as this man—this worthless, vile, pathetic excuse for a human being kept shouting at him, raging, his alcoholic breath stinking and hate-filled. CRY PUSSY, CRY I WANT YOU TO FUCKING CRY JUST LIKE I USED TO MAKE YOUR MOMMA! CRY!_

_Every hateful word, every lash with the belt, every rough fist, every kick, every beating that man had ever rained down upon him flooded his mind and body until there was nothing left but seething anger and a cry that burst forth like a clap of pent up thunder. The boy fell on his father, the knife clattered from his hand. Punches covered his face and split his lip, busted his nose, covered Rods' flying fists in blood—and if felt amazing—and frightening. He scrambled up to his feet, and for a moment, fell back against the wall, terrified that now his father really was going to kill him. He waited, panting, pressing his hand to the cut across his throat. Waiting for what, he didn't know, but his father didn't stir. He was unconscious._

_That was when Roderick Toombs knew he had to leave. He had nothing here, and when his father came around, he was surely going to receive the worst and very last beating of his young life. He took only a small bag with a few dear or essential belongings, and his bagpipes. He ran, and took refuge in youth hostels and on the streets, playing his bagpipes for what little money he could get. Roderick Toombs was thirteen years old._

"Roddy." Paul tried again.

"Leave me alone." Rod jerked away from his friends touch. He wrapped his arms around himself, feeling just as alone and hollow as he had that day, nearly seventeen years ago. It seemed so strange that at thirty, he could still feel like he was sheered back down to nothing more than that pathetic, thirteen year old boy crying and sniveling in the corner, feeling like a grain of sand usurped by the raging, uncaring, ocean.

"Just go talk to Bob, damn it Rod!"

"No. Ya know what, I'm gonna call that ugly little son-of-a-bitch Vince tomorrow and tell him I'm getting outta this business." Rod managed a laugh that felt-and even sounded to himself-extremely forced and fake. "I got offered parts in a couple a'movies. I was gonna turn 'em down to stick around here with Ace…but I think maybe it's better if I move on, probably after 'Mania." He scowled. "We still have that damn crap with Mr. T and Hogan to put up with."

Paul pressed his lips together in a tight line, and scowled, his features becoming hard.

"Running doesn't solve anything."

Paul squawked, shocked when Rod pressed him against the wall, his hands roughly pinning him.

"What would you know about it? You know _nothing._"


	4. Chapter 4

**_A/N: I guess this is the end. To me, this seems like it's been a hell of a lot longer journey than just four chapters. I have mixed feelings, I feel like somethings wrong with it. But this is where Mr. Roddy Muse insisted on taking it and ending it. I don't know. Bah. I'll definitely do more Rod and his cohorts though. Most likely, they'll be oneshots, but I really like writing about them so they'll be back. It's been fun._**

**_ Oh, and…I've been looking at Piper's wiki page, Ortons wiki page, Orndorffs wiki page, and old clips of these three and I've managed to get pretty confused over times of things and dates sometimes I felt like pulling my hair to shreds. I think after much reading and re-reading, watching and re-watching, that I have things pretty much in order. Just one last thing, I put a promo from Roddy in here, and a piece of one from Bob, and a song. That is what originally inspired this fic. I suggest after reading this chapter, go to Youtube and search _Piper and Orton Buildup From SNME. _That is the vid and the phenomenal promo which birthed this whole fic, and got me started on the Piper/Orton relationship. _**

**_Please please go watch it when you're done reading this, you won't be disappointed I promise__. __Now, I need to shut up. I hope you've all enjoyed this, and I hope the ending is good for you all. Thanks so much for your time reading and reviewing. Now, I'll be quiet. Rods threatening me with lobbing coconuts at my head if I ramble any more._**

* * *

_2005_

Rod watched the gray evening wane on to a dark night. Stars popped out against the sky, a backdrop for the towering buildings that made up a jagged skyline. The arena was dark and empty, since drained of fans, staff, and superstars. He was still around, alone, sitting against the dumpster outside once in a while picking up a pebble, and shooting it over the pavement, like skipping flat stones on a lake, only it didn't exactly work out that way. They just skittered across the stony surface and somehow reminded him that he was there alone, except when his mind drifted back to Paul or Bob.

Behind him, he could hear minute scratching and rustling in the dumpster, mice and rats no doubt. It was a sound he had once became used to, a lullaby at night, when a lonely teenager with a dirty face huddled in the darkness, waiting for morning, hoping he would be tough enough to survive another rough night on the streets. At least tonight was a mild one.

The wind picked up a little, blowing like a warm sigh between the buildings, and rustling his auburn hair off his forehead. The gentleness almost felt like fingers, the way Bob might stroke his hair lazily after they'd made love. In the life of Roddy "Piper" Toombs there was very little he regretted. But how things had happened with Bob was one of them. He'd moved on, sure, both of them had. He still had his wonderful wife Kitty, their four beautiful kids, whom he adored with all of his being and more. But even still, there had been nights spent in his Oregon home, cozied by the fireplace in the den, his wife's head laid against his chest, the kids sprawled sleeping on the floor, when things should have seemed perfect, but always there was a piece that was missing and he knew just what it was—and that it was long gone.

Bob was married to Elaine, and they had three kids, one of course highly successful in the business of his father, grandfather, and great uncle. Since 1987, there had been nothing between them, no contact.

Rod found his thoughts drifting to Wrestlemania III where he had taken on Adorable Adrian Adonis—that idiot with the damn Flower Shop talk segment that had replaced his own Pit segment after he'd left for a bit in 1986 to pursue a couple of movies, right after the big fight with Bob. The movie deal had fallen through that time, and that's why Rod had found himself back in the WWF but this time, Bob was his rival rather than his beloved body guard. Bob was now in a storyline that put him with Adrian, and that flaming weirdo crowned Bob Orton with a pink cowboy hat, and Don Muraco.

When Rod came back to reclaim his talk segment from Adonis, Bob turned on him and aligned himself with Adonis—adorable or not up for debate. Wrestlemania III was billed as Roddy's retirement match, before he made another attempt at Hollywood. He was glad to have one last hurrah with WWF, but behind closed doors it killed him to work with Bob when their real-life relationship, not only on screen one, was on the rocks. Ironically, Bob left shortly after Wrestlemania III as well. He tagged with Don Muraco for a bit, but then he said goodbye. Rod had always wondered if it had anything to do with him, but he supposed that was a ridiculous conclusion. More than likely Bob wanted time with his family, and to finally heal that nagging forearm injury which refused to mend.

Randy's words to him, screamed in his face, in front of an arena of people echoed throughout his mind. They were all true, but Randy failed to realize one thing. He failed to realize how much Rod and Bob had loved each other at one time. From the beginning their friendship had been easy, and quickly developed into more, with Paul sometimes getting in on the action, or cheering from the sidelines. His career had blessed him with so much, so many fond memories, so many wonderful people and relationships, success, support for his family, but one of the best things it had offered him, was a man he liked to call Ace, and he'd lost his Ace.

He thought about the stupid fights, the angry words, that spilled out of their personal life and into their jobs. The one that stuck out most to him was a segment leading up to Saturday Nights Main Event. Creative had pieced together clips of Rod and Bob showcasing their 'friendship' to the tune of the song "You're a Friend Of Mine". The words suddenly crowded into Rod's mind, as he sat there alone against the cold dumpster, with the scrabbling mouse claws inside. He imagined being instead with Bob, curled up together with a couple of beers, laughing, talking, stealing kisses.

_Striking out? Well count me in  
I'm gonna stand right by your side through thick or thin  
Ain't no doubt, gonna win  
A walk through hell ain't bad compared to where we've been_

_Oh you can depend on me  
Over and over...over and over know that I intend to be  
The one who always makes you laugh until you cry  
And you can call on me until the day you die_

_Years may come and go  
Here's one thing I know  
All my life you're a friend of mine  
What if mountains fall?  
Nothin' left at all  
I'll be fine 'cause you're a friend of mine_

_That argument I can't forget  
We fought so hard I don't think I've recovered yet…_

Rod stopped, and found himself wiping at the tears in his eyes. That song was so fitting to them, and no one but a select few really knew how many volumes it spoke the truth, or what nerves it hit, and how it had made him want to cry when they'd ran the segment past him. It meant so much to him, that after all these years, he could still remember each word as if Bob had directly spoken them to him.

_Oh you can depend on me  
Over and over... over and over know that I intend to be  
The one who always makes you laugh until you cry  
And you can call on me until the day you die_

_Years may come and go  
Here's one thing I know  
All my life you're a friend of mine  
What if mountains fall?  
Nothin' left at all  
I'll be fine 'cause you're a friend of mine_

* * *

_1987_

Roddy stood under the shower, despite having his clothes on. Orton had just cut a promo before hand, then that video package about their former close friendship was going to be played. Right now, it was just about Roddy's turn to cut his promo piece for Saturday Nights Main Event where he'd have a match against Orton. Never before had he felt so unnerved before a cutting a promo. Hell, he'd been doing it since a tender young age, longer than most. This one was different though, because this was personal. It was so deeply personal, and he could hear some of the words from Bob's cut ringing out in his ears.

_There was never any friendship._

Rod ducked his head back under the cold water, hoping and praying to have some kind of hold over himself when he went out there. Of course, he was known for cutting wild and crazy emotion-filled promos but now he was afraid of really, completely falling apart. He ran his hand through his hair, and turned off the water, leaning against the slippery tile wall. The water dripped and gurgled down the drain and over the slick shower floor. He shook his head like a dog, spraying water. He wiped at his face, warm tears from his eyes mingling with the dripping water. He made his way towards the door of the locker room. He knew on the other side Gene Okerlund was waiting with a microphone. He tugged at his ear, in that habit of his. It seemed to be ringing, and the things going through his head made very little sense to him.

He pushed open the blue, double doors, so hard they bounced back against the wall. Gene was interrupted in his introduction, by Piper yelling, and shaking his head around, as he walked towards the camera.

"--on the heels of that interview with Cowboy Bob Orton," Gene started off, as Roddy turned toward him, Gene in that black suit with the funny little bow tie. "Apparently Rowdy Roddy, there was _never_ any friendship according to Orton, between you and him."

"Ha!" Rod spat, indignantly turning from Gene, and towards the camera. "Never any friendship, huh? With that ugly mug a'yours how 'bout—how bout that time I got lovely Lucy to go out with you huh? It took me fourteen—_fourteen-_-months a'Sundays and a hundred dollar bill to get—and you?" Rod slapped his hand to his forehead, his thoughts raging a hundred miles an hour, still stuck on their last fight, all the things they'd done together, all the times they'd shared and now Bob had said to the cameras that there was never any friendship? Was that just a line in a script, or did he mean that? He couldn't mean that, he couldn't. Rod barreled on, carried away in the moment, his emotions running off with him.

"How 'bout when I picked you up outta the gutter eh? You and that bottle a'Thunderbird, and that Thudnerbird, away it went! And I picked you up and I put a hat on your head Bob Orton and stood you up like a man Bob Orton!" Here he was using his arms and hands, as though dragging his friend up from the ground, remembering it all clearly. "Ugh, you ugly son-of-a-gun. How bout that time--"

Here he stopped himself, his voice pitching up, as he pinched his fingers at the bridge of his nose, his head pounding now with a hell of a headache. He had to stop with 'this time' and 'that time' and actually cut the promo before it became a two hour event. Talk about Adrain, Muraco, that's what this was about. Not about a broken love life.

"Oh you think you're a big shot now cause you got Don Muraco with you now?" _That's right. _He told himself, able to get back on track a little more. "The Fat Albert of professional wrestling—Hey hey hey! Very tough, very tough. So tough, there comes Adrian Adonis, hittin' me upside this side of my head!"

As if a demonstration was needed, he slapped himself in one of his ears, partly to illustrate his point, and partly to make the never ending movie reel of him and Bob shut the hell up. It was gong to be his undoing, and now was not the time.

"Then comes Bob Orton, hittin' me up that side!" He smacked at his head again, internally yelling for those things to shut up.

"Then comes Muraco up that side--" Muraco's reenactment was Rod hitting the butt of his palm against his forehead, as Gene probably wondered if he should get out of the way."I don't care! I don't care anymore, y'see!" He advanced on the cameras, a wild look in his eyes, jabbing and pointing his finger. "I'm here to take care of Orton tonight y'see, 'cause I was Rowdy, before rowdy was cool, hah!"

He walked off to the side, rid of the camera not a moment too soon.

"Alright folks, we got action here on Saturday Night's Main Event." Gene said, casting a concerned glance towards Rod, as he spoke into the microphone. "Let's go out to the ring."

The promo wasn't really live, and it was a good thing. As the cameras cut out, Paul came to Rod, trying to figure out if he was okay but he wasn't and he was blowing up at the blond. Bob involved himself, and words were exchanged, but Rod was too far gone in his rantings and ravings and Muraco separated the two, not appreciating the fist he got from Piper as a thank-you. Rod stormed out of the building, peeling his sopping shirt off, and throwing it to the side. At any moment he was going to cry like a big baby, and none of them could see that. His father's voice rang out in his head, as his heavy-handed blows made contact with the child scared in the corner.

_Cry for me, cry you little fucking cunt!_

_There was never any friendship._

_Just go talk to him—_Paul said.

_There was never. Any. Friendship. _

He made it out to his rental car, parked crookedly between yellow lines, and he ducked in. He slammed his head again and again into the steering wheel, as tears fell. Another promo Bob had cut not long ago when the two of them were setting up for a Bull Rope Match, played through his mind, the words cutting bitterly.

"_Nothin's fair," Bob had said into the microphone, his cowboy hat perched regally on his mass of dark curls. His arms looked strong and curvy poking out of the leather vest with the tassels on it, opened and showing his bare torso, and jeans that were just the right amount of tight on him."Roddy Piper's so wrapped up in his own ego, so wrapped up in his own self, that he doesn't see what's happenin'." _

_Bob spoke, and turned towards the camera. His voice seemed to have a sad tint to it, unless Rod was just imagining it as he watched from off camera.  
_

_"He doesn't see what's goin' on. I'm gonna teach him he shouldn't step across the line, step across the rope so t'speak."_

Then Roddy had had his turn. That promo had been worse that the one he'd cut just moments ago. If he looked back on his part of that Bull Rope promo, he was sure he wouldn't even know what he had been talking about. His mind had been elsewhere, and whatever he had said about the stupid match hadn't been really important to him. It was Ace, watching him off camera, his arms curled around his chest. It was Ace, his eyes seeming indifferent to this man in front of him. It was Ace, telling him not to call him Ace anymore. For years since then, Rod had never again called him Ace, but only in his memories.

* * *

_2005_

Rod hoisted himself up to his feet, his middle-aged back creaking and grimacing as he did so. He looked up at the sun, waking sleepily and rising against the high-rise skyline. Out there, Bob Orton was in a hotel room, and maybe he was looking out at the warm, teary, sky too, thinking similar thoughts. Whether he was or wasn't, Roddy intended to find out this morning. Too many years had spanned between them, it was time, if possible, to mend what had been broken.

He took a cab, slumped in the back seat, his heart palpitating against his chest, his stomach squirming. He couldn't ever remember feeling as full of nerves as he did now. He was tugging at his ear anxiously, that old nervous habit that had never left over the years, picked up after he'd lost most of his hearing in that ear, due to a brutal dog collar match between him and Greg Valentine.

The cab seemed to arrived at the hotel too quickly, and he mumbled some sort of stupid sounding thanks to the driver, and paid him. He made it into the lobby and didn't even take time to look around at any of the familiar faces mingling and getting breakfast. He went straight to the check-in desk and asked for Bob Orton's room number.

"And who are you?" The woman attending the desk asked snottily. She snapped gum and tapped boredly at her keyboard keys with the soft end of a pencil.

"Rod Toombs. I'm…I'm a friend."

She rustled up Bob's room number, luckily without any more interrogations, and Rod headed for it as his mind raced with things to say, and things not to say. Most likely, his mouth would start off on its own regardless of whatever his head was planning for it to say. He found himself in front of the fated door, ringing the hem of his black 'Hot Rod' t-shirt. He lifted his arm and sniffed, suddenly wondering if he smelled from a night spent propped against a dumpster. He rubbed his hand over his face, told himself to stop stalling already, there were no more moments to lose. Diving right in and not looking back, he knocked on the door.

It seemed like forever before he heard the shuffle of someone coming. There was a click inside, as a lock was unlatched, but there was no move to open the door, no jiggling of the handle. He imagined Bob standing at the door, just out of bed, staring at him through the peephole in the door. There must have been a million things hurtling through his mind, just as Rod's was spinning, and just maybe Bob didn't want to answer the door. Maybe Bob didn't want to see him. Maybe he wanted Rod to stay the hell out of his life, disappeared save memories, and this new storyline Vince had going for a bit with Piper teaming with various people against the Orton's. Roddy dropped his eyes from the black number hung on the door, and looked at his hands as they fidgeted over themselves.

"Bob…Bobby…Ace." He rapt on the door again with a knuckle. "Can…will ya please open the door?" His voice to his own ears sounded old and creaky, clogged with a well of emotions that he liked to keep in check rather than let spill out. There was another small clicking sound, and the door was cracked open just a bit. He could see one eye, blinking back at him, rimmed with lines, a part of Bob's forehead crinkled with age, donned on top with hair that had gone a bit whitish. He searched for words to say, the state of being without them one he was not used to. Rowdy Roddy Piper always had something to say, but right now he wasn't Rowdy. He was just Rod Toombs, and he missed his best friend. Softly, something formed from his lips, as he played with the hem of his shirt.

"Striking out? Well count me in. I'm gonna stand right by your side through thick or thin." The singing was so soft and lilted with tears. He stumbled over the words, as tears hung on his lashes. "Ain't no doubt, gonna win. A walk through hell ain't bad compared to where we've been."

Then, there was silence. It was so thick and heavy, it felt like a weight bearing down on both men. Rod's hands were shaking now, and he was terrified that Bob was going to send him away, just shut the door, as Rod had once shut the door on him. He started to turn away, as a stream leaked over his check, but stopped.

"Oh you can depend on me." Bob's voice, God, and he remembered too. "Over and over…" Bob stopped, and the sound of him sniffling against his sleeve was loud. Then he started again, his voice singing the words lowly. "Over and over know that I intend to be, the one who always makes you laugh until you cry, and you can call on me until the day you die."

The door opened a little wider, revealing Bob's tear streaked face to Rod's, and Rod's to his.

"Years may come and go, here's one thing I know. All my life you're a friend of mine." Bob couldn't go on after that, his tears were coming to hard. He buried his face into his hand, weeping.

"What if mountains fall?" Rod pushed the door open, and stepped inside. He moved Bob's hand away from his face and took it in his hand, gently rubbing it against his cheek, reveling in the simple touch of those fingers against his skin one more time.

"Nothin' left at all." Bob said through his sniffling.

"I'll be fine 'cause you're a friend of mine." Rod finished, pressing close to Bob.

For long moments, the two men just held each other. For so long, that's all either of them had wanted and now here they were like two babies, scraped down to such basic and vulnerable states, so raw in each other and clinging together because they needed this. They needed each other, still.

"Don't cry." Bob whispered against Rod's ear as he stroked his back. Although, it was a bit silly to say, because silent tears like buckets of rain were rolling down his own face, and wetting the shoulder of Rod's shirt.

"I don't know if I…if I can stop." Rod admitted. Time and a change of heart, and maybe the kind of wisdom that comes with growing older, had wore away some of his tough leather shell. There was no more room for pride, or stupidity, or fear. Bob hooked a finger under his chin, and tilted Roddy's face up to his.

"You better stop. I don't like it when you're upset." Bob kissed Rod's face, wiping away his tears with lips that had longed to caress his ex-lover for what seemed like countless life times.

"I'm sorry, Bobby. I was so stupid, I was just afraid to tell ya…I was just afraid to love you and all, but I did. I loved you then. I never stopped lovin' ya, I still do."

"I know, and I'm sorry I ran out. That there was the biggest mistake of my life. I never stopped loving you either, you rowdy ol' dog."

That made Rod laugh, despite himself, and Bob smashed him against his chest in a big Bob Orton bear hug. Tears dried up, and the two reluctantly untangled their arms. Rod pressed a kiss to Bob's lips, then another, and another.

"Can I call ya Ace?"

"You better."

The two of them stayed in each other's arms until check out time, just talking and catching up, stroking hair, stealing kisses, re-acquainting with bodies that had grown older with time, and yet still remained the same. When they left, they left together, looking like they'd never parted at all. They drove to the next destination, all the while with Rod telling crazy stories, as Bob heartily laughed, and sometimes sang to songs on the radio. When they got to the arena, creative pulled Bob aside to where Randy was. They went over what was to be done that night, showing the two Orton's some papers with lines on them. They didn't bother to write anything for Rod, Vince had learned long ago it was best to let him wing it, he was just the kind of talent who could, and always come up golden.

They played their part as rivals, and it was pulled off beautifully, despite neither man's heart being in it anymore. Randy complained, and didn't approve of the fact that his father and Roddy were suddenly all buddy-buddy again, but the kid was young. He was stupid, and still had a lot to learn about all sorts of things in life. As for Bob and Rod, well they'd already feuded too long, and lost too much time, to care about what anyone else thought of them these days. Now, their hearts were where they were meant to be again—they belonged to each other.

_Ace Orton, and Rowdy._


End file.
